Plight of the neglected tomato
by FiveMetersOfPrussia
Summary: Antonio is forced to be slightly negligent due to work and Romano doesn't take it well.


Plight of the neglected tomato

Summary: In which Romano drunkenly cheats on Antonio and shit hits the fan.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

Warnings: FEELINGS. LOTS AND LOTS OF FEELINGS.

A/N: I'm not procrastinating on my other fics, I've simply had a craving to write some Hetalia stuff. Maybe I'll even get back to writing 'Where has my husband gone?'

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Antonio stared blankly at the mess that had become his kitchen, green eyes staring sightlessly out at his surroundings. In the past few hours, he'd all but torn the house from it's very foundation, looking for anything and everything that would be useful in his seemingly fruitless search. In the end, it all seemed to be for naught. At least, that was how it felt, at any rate. It had been a relatively normal day, with him going off to work, and Lovi doing whatever it was that he did whilst he was away. Recently his work had taken over much of his time, as the economy was slowly slipping, and many of his people were in a great distress due to this... But he had been trying to cram through the seemingly endless amounts of paperwork, taking in all of the information, and trying to balance everything out so that he could go back to spending more time with his Lovino.

No. Not _his_ Lovi... Not really. He had come home after a long days work, only to find the house quiet and empty. Not an entirely unusual occurrence, but it was admittedly a little odd to walk in and find no note or anything. Regardless, Antonio had thought nothing of it at first, and went about making dinner. Well, minutes turned to hours, and the later it got, the more Lovino's absence began to take its toll. It had been a full three hours before Antonio lost his marbles and set into trying to find out where the Italian had run off too.

Needless to say, after an hours time, nearly every country knew that Lovino was nowhere to be seen, and that if someone did not find him _soon_, Antonio would more or less take on a rage that would rival Russia's. In the process of looking for his missing lover, Antonio had torn through the house to find something, _anything_ that might be helpful to him. _What if something horrible happened to him? Is he alright? What if he's hurt?_ Those had been the frequently asked questions, and by around two in the morning, he started forgetting that he was talking to people, on the phone, and more or less abandoned them in favor of searching else where.

By midnight he'd searched the town, and the house at least three times, but there was still neither hide nor hair to be seen. He'd eventually gone back to the house, and checked the answering machine, where a message from Prussia awaited him. He'd had to listen to it a few times, frozen in a mixture of shock, hurt, and confusion, as the information refused to register. Despite the message on the machine, he'd called Gilbert and - screaming, desperate for it not to be true - demanded the truth. Gilbert had been patient with him, wisely saying nothing as he screamed at him, and offering up the bitter truth of where his beloved Romano had been.

That had, if he remembered correctly, been more or less around two in the morning. A glance at the clock in the kitchen told him that it was four in the morning now, and the Spaniard closed his bloodshot eyes slowly. He opened his eyes and glanced around the kitchen once more before picking up a chair, and carrying it into the front hallway. There, he perched it in front of the door, and sat down, folding his arms across his chest. All in all, he looked like _shit_. His chocolate colored hair was messed up from him running his fingers through it frantically, and there were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, and a frigid scowl rested itself upon his lips.

And now, it was time to wait, for when Romano decided to come home, Antonio had every intention of finding out why. Why had he run off like that? Why had he cheated? How long had this been going on? Even the thought of it simply enraged him! The Spaniard glared daggers into the door, as if it would make him feel better, and impatiently counted of the minutes before Romano graced him with his presence.

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A/N: That's all for now, as always, reviews are greatly appreciated! Maybe suggest someone for the drunken bed partner?


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